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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822032">Of Post-It Notes, Plants, and Peach Cobbler</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzz_95/pseuds/kenzz_95'>kenzz_95</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Trektober 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Hikaru likes to cook so Jim's a happy camper, Bones likes to bake, M/M, Neighbors, Post-it Notes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:21:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzz_95/pseuds/kenzz_95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and his roommate Hikaru's new neighbor across the street is an enigma. Neither man has ever seen or heard from the person, until one day a package shows up on their doorstep addressed to Jim, with a note scrawled on a Post-It note stuck to the top. This begins a long-running ritual in which Jim and the mysterious neighbor, who he nicknamed Bones, pass each other small gifts and notes across the street several times a week, all without ever speaking in person. Jim feels like they have a connection, and when they finally meet in person they realize that what started with exchanged sticky notes can actually just be the beginning of something really meaningful.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Trektober 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trektober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Of Post-It Notes, Plants, and Peach Cobbler</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trektober Day 6: Neighbors</p><p>I think it's pretty clear but just in case, Bones' notes are in italics and Jim's are in bold.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jim’s new neighbor was an enigma. They had moved in right across the street in the middle of January, which even Jim, who considered himself a proud Midwestern boy, knew was a terrible time to move. They had moved in while both Jim and his roommate Hikaru were at work, and even though it had been five months now they still hadn’t seen him. Or her. Or them. The gender of this mystery person was yet unclear. They had hired a snow removal service for the winter, and while it was still bitter cold there was at least a decent reason why nobody had seen hide nor hair of their neighbor. Maybe they just hated the cold. Jim was pretty sure his neighbors could go months on end in the winter without seeing Hikaru, as the man had a typical Californian hatred of winter. But then the weather turned and it was revealed that this mystery person had also hired a landscaping service so they weren’t out mowing their lawn or anything either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jim was constantly perplexed by this mystery neighbor. He had never seen them getting the mail, or even taking their trash out, although the bins were always at the curb every Wednesday as scheduled. They had their lights on sometimes, and he had even caught a car pulling in and out of the garage a few times, so he knew that </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> was there, but that was it. The occupants of the house could have been anything from an 18 year old girl to a 90 year old man and Jim didn’t have the slightest guess. So he and Hikaru speculated wildly, assigning personas to their never-present neighbor. There was anything from the impossible - the occupier of said house was invisible - to the improbable - it was a meth lab - to the more likely - it was just some sorta weird hermit. But neither of the men could’ve predicted what their first interaction with their neighbor would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a package on the doorstep when Jim got back from work one day. Affixed to the package was a sticky note written in the worst handwriting he had ever seen, and he was friends with Scotty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To the blond moran with the crotch rocket - </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to wake up one morning to find your bones strewn across my yard and your gray matter all over the street. I see enough motorcycle crashes at work without having to worry about seeing one at home too. Wear a goddamn helmet. Now you don’t have an excuse anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em><span>1712</span></em></li>
</ul><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PS: I had to guess your size. You look like you have a big head, but I couldn’t guess what it was filled with. Not brains, apparently. The receipt’s good for exchanges </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim glanced back down at the box, then up again. 1712. That was the house number across the street, the one with the constantly perplexing neighbor. He probably shouldn’t open a box from a weird stranger, but he already had his box cutter into the packaged before he realized this may be a bomb or something so he said fuck it and sliced it the rest of the way open. Only to reveal yet another box, this one featuring pictures of the contents. It was a motorcycle helmet. And a nice one, by the looks of it. One of those ones with bluetooth. This probably had been several hundred dollars. Slightly dazed, Jim pulled it out of the box and tried it on. It fit perfectly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” he breathed, entirely to himself. This situation had just gotten a whole lot weirder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim kept the helmet. He used it, too. He had actually been meaning to get another one, but had never gotten around it. It was a bit odd, wearing a several hundred dollar gift from a stranger, but if his neighbor wanted to use their money on that then that was their prerogative, he supposed. He considered paying the person back, but felt like that maybe wouldn’t go well. He still felt like he somehow owed his neighbor, though, so one day when Hikaru had gotten off a difficult shift and stress made just an absurd amount of dumplings, Jim threw a couple dozen in a plastic container, put the container in a cooler with a little bag of ice, and left it on his neighbor’s porch with a sticky note of his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Thanks for the helmet. I know this hardly makes up for it, but my roommate cooks when he’s stressed and he found a great dumpling recipe online and made like 100. You seem like the type of weirdo who’s overly concerned about food poisoning, so they should stay fresh in the cooler. I want that back, though.</b>
</p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li><b>The moronic blond at 1701</b></li>
</ul><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few days later, the cooler reappeared on Jim and Hikaru’s porch, with Jim’s plastic container buried under a whole bag of cookies. Yet again, there was a note.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The dumplings were delicious. I’ll have you know I am concerned about food poisoning a healthy amount. You see enough enteric diseases and you quit eating suspicious food. I’m glad you’re wearing the helmet. You probably ride that stupid bike to impress girls and/or guys, but any adult with an iota of common sense will think you look hotter in the helmet anyways.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em><span>1712</span></em></li>
</ul><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PS: there are almonds in those cookies</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim knit his brows together, discarded the cookie in his hand back in the bag, and went to wash his hands. He was glad his allergy wasn’t more severe. He then looked back down at the note, then up at his roommate who was snipping some fresh herbs for the spaghetti bolognese he was stress cooking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hikaru, I think our weird neighbor is into me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim probably should’ve just left it at that, but for reasons he didn’t really understand he didn’t. The next week, the snake plant that Hikaru had given him in an attempt to get him a plant that was nearly unkillable had produced yet another offshoot. Jim already had </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> for himself, all from the one original plant, and he wasn’t even really a plant person. All his actual friends had been given a snake plant progeny, so when he made Hikaru separate this one - Jim refused to do it, even though this thing was somehow hardier even than the cactus he had killed in college - he threw it in a plastic pot and left it on his neighbor’s porch with a sticky note attached.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Thanks for the heads up on the cookies. Anaphylaxis sucks. My roommate says they’re good though. The stupid snake plant my roommate gave me won’t stop having babies, here have this one. It’s almost impossible to kill. Trust me. Why’re you seeing so many enteric diseases and motorcycle crashes? You a doctor or something?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>PS - I’m allergic to tree nuts (not peanuts), latex, bees, and penicillin. Just FYI.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>PPS - It’s and, not or</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You told the weird neighbor your sexuality?” Hikaru asked. He had been leaning over Jim’s shoulder as he tried to squeeze his message onto the sticky note.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mind your business,” Jim mumbled as he attached the note to the pot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know he might be some 80 year old creep, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just making conversation, Hikaru.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next week there was another cooler on their porch, but this one wasn’t Jim and Hikaru’s. Inside was a container of peach cobbler, homemade by the looks of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Correct, I’m a trauma surgeon at the county hospital. That is a concerning list of allergies. I have included a latex glove filled with bees and covered in penicillin, for your enjoyment (it’s actually peach cobbler. No nuts). I don’t have good luck with plants, but this one seems to be surviving so far. I know, I know, it’s absurd I can keep people alive but not a damn plant.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PS - Also and</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cobbler was life changing. The two of them seemed to settle into a bit of a routine after that. Jim sucked at cooking, but every week he came up with something to give his neighbor, and a few days later he always got baked goods in return. And there were always notes. He started to really look forward to it, actually, even though he had yet to see the person behind the food.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Pretty sure I had a spiritual experience eating that cobbler. No fair that you’re a doctor </b>
  <b>and</b>
  <b> you bake. Don’t worry about the plant, you could drop it off the empire state building and it’d probably be fine. How are you a trauma surgeon when you’re afraid to leave your house? No offense.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>PS - My roommate is a life flight pilot, he’s at the county hospital all the time. Last name Sulu.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I leave my house all the time. In fact, all I do is leave my house. I work crazy hours, which is probably why you never see me. I don’t have time or energy for yard work and shit. But I do leave my house. I have never met your roommate, but I’ll keep my eye out. Do you actually work or are you one of those guys who spends all day hoping he’ll be run over by a Lexus or something? No offense.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>I work! I’ve got a job at an engineering firm in the city. I’ve never been hit by a Lexus, but I did get hit by a BMW in college (not my fault). Payout wasn’t what I thought it would be. Didn’t even put a dent in my loans. Did put a pretty nice dent in my bike though (regular bike, not motorcycle). Speaking of cars, yours is a bit shitty for a trauma surgeon.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There isn’t enough space on this post it note for me to tell you how it makes me feel to get massive paychecks off people’s suffering. Healthcare should be free. I donate a lot of it. Mind your damn business.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sorry. I know you told me to mind my business, but that’s actually admirable as hell.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I ain’t trying to impress you, kid.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PS - I think that plant you gave me is pregnant</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You say that now, but these triple chocolate cookies say otherwise. That’ll happen. When the offshoot gets bigger, you can drop it off here and my roommate will separate it for you. I’m afraid to do it in case I kill it, even though they’re apparently impossible to kill.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I met our neighbor today,” Hikura said over dinner one night a few months and a few dozen exchanged post it notes later. Jim had kept all his. Not that he would own up to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jim nearly choked on the chicken he was eating. “Across the street?” he asked after he had taken a large drink of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one you’re in love with? Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not in love with them, I don’t even know them. I’ve literally never seen them before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I have. I brought a patient over to the county general today and I was going to go inside for a minute, grab some lunch and stuff. This guy on the team who ran out to meet the patient just looked at me for a moment and then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>while intubating a guy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, said ‘I think you’re my neighbor. 1701 Cherrywood?’ and I said yes and he said ‘I’m across the street. Tell your boyfriend I said hello.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I thought you still couldn’t find the balls to just ask Ben out already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse you, you have been chronically single for several years,” Hikaru pointed out, “And besides, how would he know about Ben anyways? I think he was talking about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jim pulled a face. He and Hikaru had met freshman year of college and had roomed together since sophomore year. And, despite what people thought because they were the only two out queer kids on their floor, they had never dated or slept together or anything. Hikaru was like Jim’s younger brother or something, despite the two only being a year apart and Jim being easily the bigger disaster of the pair to the point where it wasn’t even close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, did you correct him?” Jim asked, only just realizing the pronoun Hikaru had used. Jim had been suspecting that his neighbor was a guy, but he wasn’t sure if he was actually basing that off anything meaningful or if it was just some unconscious sexism about the gender of the sarcastic and grumpy surgeon across the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t have time, he didn’t exactly stick around. The guy on the gurney was crashing. It was a maybe 10 second conversation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, how old is he?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you care?” Hikaru was looking at him pointedly. Jim rolled his eyes,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t a guy be curious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Couldn’t tell for sure, he wasn’t looking at me for more than a second or two, I think just long enough to read the name on my jacket, but probably mid 30s. Definitely no younger than late 20s or older than early 40s. Well within your age range.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate you, so much,” Jim said, and threw a green bean at his roommate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I ran into your roommate yesterday. Figured there weren’t a ton of life flight pilots named Sulu around here. We didn’t have time to talk, but he wasn’t immediately offensive, although all pilots are at least a little bit batshit insane. I told him to tell you hello, but I’m not sure if he mentioned it or not.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PS: That plant you gave me is knocked up again. I took the first child to my office, I’m running out of places to put these things.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sorry I gave you a floozy plant. Sulu did mention you. He was pretty impressed that you intubated a guy on the helipad. Did they live? Am I allowed to ask that? What’s wrong with pilots? I wanted to be a pilot, but I can’t see for shit without my contacts. Maybe I’ll take lessons someday, just for fun. Hikaru said he’ll teach me for free if I want.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If human beings were made to fly we would have been born with wings. I’m glad your roommate was impressed, I guess, but the EMTs really should’ve intubated the guy on the flight over. He’s gonna be fine, and you can ask that if you’d like. I don’t mind, it’s sort of personal preference though so don’t take that as a gospel truth for every surgeon you meet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>I don’t really meet a lot of surgeons. I’m glad he lived though! Great job on that. You’re probably really good at your job, aren’t you?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>PS - that apple crumble made me see God</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What makes you say that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PS: Thoughts on pumpkin pie? It’s that time of year but it seems to be pretty contentious and I ain’t about to eat a whole pie alone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Indifferent on pumpkin pie. But I’ve loved everything you’ve baked so far other than those cookies that could’ve killed me, so I trust you. Let’s just say I know what ‘actually a genius but not trying to brag about it’ looks like from up close and personal experience.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>PS - Somehow it slipped my mind, but I’ve been meaning to correct you on this. Hikaru has never been, is not currently, and never will be my boyfriend. He’s just a good friend and an amazing roommate.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is this starting to feel absurd to you, or is it just me? If you really don’t have a partner, how would you feel about going to dinner with me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim nearly screamed like a middle schooler when he saw that note. Which was ridiculous because he had never even seen this guy, let alone had an actual conversation with him. But there was something so intriguing about the notes they’d been leaving on each others’ porch for nearly 6 months now, and at some point he had gotten invested. Hikaru running into him at work and confirming that he was actually a man around their age with a great job and not some local weirdo who was messing with Jim only served to get him more invested in this relationship that didn’t even exist. He left the note on his neighbor’s that night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>I don’t have anything for you but hell yes. I’m free whenever. Wait, that makes me sound lame, doesn’t it? I promise I have a social life, we just usually don’t plan things a lot ahead of time.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a note on Jim’s door in the morning, again with no accompanying treat or item.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well you’ve got me beat seeing as how I don’t have a social life, impromptu or otherwise. Perks of working constantly I suppose. I’m on an early shift Friday and off Saturday. Does 7 this Friday work for you? I haven’t been out much around here, but my coworker recommended this place called Cedar, I think it’s a steakhouse. You heard of it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Heard of it, only went once for a work thing. It was great but not to be a bitch with tons of student loans but it’s a bit on the pricey end. Friday at 7 works for me though.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please, I have some manners, I asked you out so I am obviously planning on buying. My coworker told me that’s where she brings people she’s trying to impress. Fair warning, though, places like that aren’t my typical scene, so don’t think this is gonna be some sort of precedent. Meet me there at 7?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>I’m looking forward to it. You should know, though, I think all wine over like $10 a glass tastes the same, so don’t waste your money.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So do I.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PS: Reservation is under McCoy</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim realized several things as he was getting ready for his date with his mysterious neighbor turned post it note friend he had nicknamed Bones. First was that he probably needed a new suit, one that was actually made for adults and not the one he had bought for job interviews immediately post college. Second, he only had just the one tie. He maintained this wasn’t his fault. He worked at an engineering and development firm and they were pretty casual. Dressed up at his job was, like, khakis or something. Thirdly, he hadn’t worn his tie in a year, and apparently the last time he had worn it he had spilled either ketchup or red wine on it. He ended up having to borrow a tie from Hikaru, who had two separate ties like an actual adult. And fourth was that he had never been on a date like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dating experience was actually severely lacking. Back in college he had used sex as therapy but then grad school came and he realized the best therapy was, well, therapy. And Hikaru always told him that he owed his success rate in college due to the fact that he was pretty and everyone in college was just really horny. He had tried his hand at a few dating apps over the years, to mostly no real success. But those dates hadn’t been like this one. Because he liked Bones, McCoy, whatever. He was witty and a great baker and apparently a brilliant surgeon and didn’t take any shit. They had a connection and all that was left was finding out if that connection extended to physical attraction. Also, well...the dude was taking him to a steak house where he had to wear a </span>
  <em>
    <span>suit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had been there before, and that had been for lunch where prices were usually lower, and he had still been intensely glad that his job was paying. Damn. He was really going on a date with a surgeon at one of the nicest restaurants in town. Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Jim realized as he was straightening Hikaru’s tie in the mirror by the garage door, “You don’t think he’s just doing this to get me in bed, do you? Like, he’ll think I owe him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you care, you’re a slut,” Hikaru teased and Jim smacked his friend in the arm. “If it feels like he expects it of you, just don’t fuck him. Don’t let him guilt trip you. I think you’ll have a great time though. Now get out of here, I have a date with my plants.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jim was being stood up, maybe. It was nearly 7:30 and Jim was still sitting at their table alone drinking overpriced wine because it turns out they didn’t even have anything for $10 a glass here and gouging himself on free bread. This had never happened to him before. He hated it, as it turns out. And he had no idea how long he was supposed to wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice came from a guy who was looking right at him as he speed walked through the middle of this very fancy restaurant. A very, very attractive man who was now standing next to his table, green - no brown, no </span>
  <em>
    <span>hazel</span>
  </em>
  <span> - eyes a little frenzied. But damn the guy could wear a suit. Jim swallowed hard. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was Bones. Could be worse. In fact, Jim wasn’t sure how it could be better. Other than if this conversation had happened half an hour ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leonard McCoy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man extended a hand. Jim took it and offered him a firm handshake, which he felt like was maybe an odd way to start a date, but what did he know?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim Kirk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like shit,” Bones - yeah, Jim was sticking with the nickname, Leonard was an absurd name for such a good looking guy - said, sinking into the other chair across from Jim and immediately shedding his suit coat, “I was supposed to be off at 4 but then the last surgery I did went wrong in just about every way it possibly could. I wanted to text you, but I don’t actually have your number. I’m glad you waited, but I would’ve understood if you had left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jim’s frustration evaporated pretty much immediately. Bones had been doing his genius doctor thing. That was pretty damn forgivable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, sounds pretty important, you couldn’t have just left them on the table.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bones raised his left eyebrow. Just the left one. It was a funny picture, but also very attractive. “I think you’re the first person to not treat me showing up late to a date because of a surgery I got wrapped up in as some sort of personal affront. This includes my ex-wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jim snorted into his overpriced wine, “I think that says more about you than me, to be honest. How’d it go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They lived. But only just. God only knows what kind of brain damage they’re gonna have, their heart stopped several times for several minutes, but with how they came in and the way it spiraled in the OR I’m gonna have to put this one in the win column just for having a heartbeat when I left. Dammit, sorry, nobody wants to hear about all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind,” Jim said, and he was telling the truth. Bones’ eyes lit up when he was talking and it was adorable. Plus apparently the other man was southern, which Jim found incredibly attractive. “You’re hot when you talk about things you care about. And you’re hot in general, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bones barked out a laugh that was too loud for the kind of place they were in. Jim found he liked him a little more for it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two men had a couple glasses of wine each with dinner, which was amazing and not just because of the food. As it turns out they clicked even more in person. But Bones hadn’t been kidding when he said places like this weren’t his scene, so as soon as they finished their dinner Bones paid the bill and they got the hell out of there. It was cold, but they walked around the city for a while, talking and laughing like they had known each other for years. Jim bought Bones frozen custard at his favorite place near his office which didn’t make them even but Jim didn’t feel like Bones thought he was any kind of indebted to him anyways. Finally, after a couple hours in the chilly November air, they walked back to the steak house where they had both parked. Bones looked like he was about 5 second away from passing out, because apparently he had been on a 12 hours shift that had turned into 15, so Jim drove him home and figured he could go pick his bike up the next day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in Bones’ driveway for a few minutes, just finishing up their conversation, and suddenly Jim admitted,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’m terrible at dating. I don’t know how these things are supposed to end, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if I weren’t so damn tired I’d invite you in for drinks. But I think that’ll have to wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time?” Jim asked. He wanted there to be a next time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time,” Bones agreed, “Give me your phone, I’ll give you my number so we can stop wasting so much money on post it notes, and if I get tied up at work again you’ll know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jim pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and handed it to the other man. When he was done and held it out to Jim, Jim took it then took Bones’ still outstretched hand and pulled him in for a kiss. They kissed for a few minutes, nothing too heated, not with how beat Bones was, but it sent a spark through Jim’s body like kissing never had done before. Bones gave him a quick peck after they pulled away and Jim was grinning like an idiot as he said,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You better not stop baking just because we’re talking in real life now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat a vegetable,” Bones teased, giving him another quick kiss before smacking him in the shoulder, “And get the hell out of my car. I’ll see ya soon.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Soon,” Jim confirmed, still smiling like he had just won the lottery. Maybe, in a way, he had.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All descriptions of this plant that cannot stop reproducing have been pulled directly from my own life.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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